


Kinslayer (Affectionate)

by AdmirableMonster (Mertiya)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Banter, Breathplay, Canon Compliant, Dissociation, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Mags is a BRAT, Modern Era, One Night Stands, Rough Sex, Spanking, Subspace, that rapidly stop being lol, very very lightly implied/referenced incest, which freaking KILLS ME T-T
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 06:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30017244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/AdmirableMonster
Summary: After attending a graduation ceremony at Georgetown University, one ancient Elf accidentally stumbles upon another in the DC metro. They were enemies a long time ago, but it may not matter so much in the twenty-first century.
Relationships: Maglor | Makalaurë/Thranduil
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	Kinslayer (Affectionate)

**Author's Note:**

> haha ha 
> 
> so. this made me really, really, really sad but also. i just, really love the maglor/thranduil dynamic you guys...?

Thranduil muttered an oath beneath his breath.He disliked the DC metro—unsurprisingly, since he did not like the idea of trains beneath the earth to begin with.Like something a Dwarf would build.But it was the fastest way for him to make his way through the iron bones of the city from the hotel where he had been staying to the place where the educational institution of Georgetown University would be awarding River McCoy the degree of Bachelor of Arts in History, and it was important that Thranduil be there for the ceremony, because River McCoy was an orphan of the worst kind there was—the sort whose parents were living, but chose not to accept their own child.Thranduil hoped there was a special and most uncomfortable place reserved for such folk in the Mannish afterlife.

A clear ripple of music reached his ears, and he froze, suddenly.The rough, dank walls seemed to melt away for an instant, all of the Mannish world peeling away like an illusion stripped back.Around him rose the grey and green trees of Doriath, lost beneath the black waves before history began, and the brightly-colored figures of the seven Sons of Fëanor, arriving to treat with the young king.He had heard this tune then, and he could not forget it, would never forget it.

“Mommy, look!The singer has pointy ears!”

“Just a cosplayer, honey.Isn’t he good?Shall we leave him some money?”

Thranduil found he was turning in place in the crowded subway station, as if mesmerized.Less than twenty feet away a street musician was playing on a battered guitar.He wore a faded green parka over jeans, and his black hair was raggedly cut to the length of his chin.He had not bothered, even, to lay a glamer over his sharp ears, but it wouldn’t have mattered, for Thranduil would never forget the face anymore than he would forget the plangent notes of that tune from another world.

Those grey eyes looked up, and their gazes locked.Shock writ itself across that thin face, and Thranduil knew that despite his own glamers, he, too, was known.It was a terrible feeling, to know that millennia ago he had feared and loathed the Elf across from him, that the only time they had seen each other face-to-face, he had been nothing but a frightened child crying as his people were slaughtered around him.It was a terrible feeling to discover that those crimes seemed to have blurred away into myth in the face of the simple truth that he was not alone in this world.

He shuddered, and again the world fell away for an instant, all sounds fading but the soft plink of the guitar, all these folk and their inventions and their histories fading as he seemed to slip into the shadow-mist of history.Those grey eyes filled suddenly with tears, and it took every ounce of Thranduil’s self control and the blood-promise binding him to the Mannish child he was to visit to pull himself away.He shook his head, dragging himself back to the clamor and noise of the metro station, and pretended he did not see the hand upraised in supplication as he escaped onto the train pulling into the station.

* * *

He had not intended to return.He had thought he would just rearrange his travel plans a little to avoid the stop on the way back.It would take hardly any time at all, and he had walked all these years in this new world without ever seeing _him_ before, so surely he would be able to walk an equal number without ever seeing him again.

So then how had he found himself back here, slipping off the train at a much quieter hour of the night?He half-expected to find no one.He half-expected to find that he had dreamed the whole thing.But no.The station was mostly empty, but the dark-haired figure in the deceptively Mannish parka and jeans was still there.He was seated now, slumped over his guitar case, carefully going through a pittance of coin.He was not looking at Thranduil.There was still time to turn and get back on the train or to run for the escalator.

And yet, he did neither.Feeling as though he were floating, as though he commanded his _hröa_ only very loosely from somewhere quite distant, he walked carefully across the grubby tiles and stopped in front of the busker, looking down at him, his fuzzy shadow falling across the guitar case.

The Elf looked up, his grey eyes shocked.For a moment, they just looked at one another; then Thranduil put out a hand.“Here,” he said faintly.

“I didn’t think you’d come back.”

“I didn’t think so either.”

They had both spoken Sindarin, softly, effortlessly, a language Thranduil had not heard on another tongue in countless years.

“Thranduil Oropherion, isn’t it?”

He nodded.“I am surprised you remembered, Maglor Fëanorion.”

A queer little smile tugged at those lips.“I remember most of my sins, as it turns out.”He sobered quickly.“What are you doing here?”

“I was attending a graduation ceremony at Georgetown.”

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant.”Thranduil breathed hard.He felt sick, dizzy, unmoored.Any movement seemed likely to shatter the soap-bubble-illusion of the world and precipitate him back to the cold forests of Beleriand.“I would not leave my home.”

A swift, shaky little breath.To his surprise, Maglor was tearing up.“And I can never go home,” he said, after a moment.“What a pair we make.”He reached out and took the hand that Thranduil was still holding out, and Thranduil hoisted him to his feet.Nose to nose, they were almost the same height; he seemed to remember all the Noldor as giants, but apparently it was not true.Perhaps his memory had turned them enormous or perhaps it had been his youth.

He found he did not know what to say.He found he did not want to let go of Maglor’s hand.“I have a hotel room in the city for the night,” he said anyway, after a moment.It felt— _wrong._ The word _hotel_ was in English because the closest Sindarin counterpart was _inn_ , and that wasn’t right.He felt like a jigsaw puzzle, badly put together.

Maglor gave him a faint smile.“If that is an invitation, I accept,” he said.“On condition you allow me to use the shower first.I—” he looked down at himself, blinking his eyes slowly.“I’m not sure when I was last—I think I’ve lost some time again.”

Thranduil considering making a snide remark, but for some reason bit it back, and, instead said, “Of course.”Grubby he might be, but he suspected Maglor would clean up nicely.

* * *

The lights of the bathroom were too bright for Maglor’s eyes.Everything seemed smeared and blurred.The water of the shower was too hot and stinging, and it made him shudder.He didn’t remember taking his clothes off, but they had been folded neatly and laid on the floor beside the bathmat.He wasn’t sure if he had washed his hair yet, so he reached for the shampoo and found that it was almost empty.Ah.There was no dirt beneath his fingernails anymore, either.Then he probably had washed himself properly.

Shutting off the shower, he stepped out into the bathroom and reached, blissfully, for one of the big, fluffy white towels.It was warm against his skin, rough and soft all at the same time.He dried himself slowly, rubbing his skin till it was red and tingling.His hair, still damp, hung down to his waist in matted trails.He didn’t think it would be very easy to untangle.

When he came back into the room, he found Thranduil sitting back against the bed, reading a book.The other Elf looked up as he came.Maglor tried to smile, because he thought smiling was probably the thing to do, but he wasn’t certain if he quite managed it.There was a queer, unreal feeling about the golden light illuminating the cozy room, as if Thranduil were the only thing here that truly existed, as if even Maglor himself were nothing more than a creation of the Sindar’s mind.

Thranduil’s dark eyebrows knit together.“You were in there for a long time.Are you all right?”

Maglor blinked at the old, odd, lilting sound of Sindarin again.It had no place here, but he stretched his hands out all the same.“I lose time,” he said again, a little faint.“It’s—perhaps this is what it means to fade…?”

Black eyes snapping, Thranduil beckoned him over, and Maglor obeyed the gestured summons.A slim, long-fingered hand took his, and Thranduil pulled him close, pulled him down, their lips meeting suddenly.

The odd feeling of unreality snapped off like a lightbulb.In its place there was the feeling of Thranduil’s warm skin beneath his hands, the sudden pain of teeth in his lower lip, and the surging motion of someone else beneath him, someone who knew him despite not knowing him, who understood the shape of his thoughts and desires.They were just two immortals tangling together in a rather upscale hotel in Washington DC.Not so strange, when you thought about all the other strange things in the world.

Maglor laughed, letting the towel fall from about his waist.“I hope you’ve got something to ease the way, because I haven’t had something inside me in far too long,” he purred.

Little pinpricks of sensation made him keen and whine and buck as Thranduil nipped at his neck.“I stopped at the drugstore on the corner while you were showering,” Thranduil murmured in his ear, his tongue working delicately at the pointed tip.Maglor squeaked and writhed.

“Please,” he begged.“Please, please—”

“What do you want?” Thranduil’s hands raked up his chest, and Maglor arched beneath him, frantically thrusting and rutting against the other’s front.

“ _Take me apart_ ,” he gasped. 

“Kinslayer,” whispered Thranduil, and he slipped a hand down, roughly fisting at Maglor’s cock.

“Yes,” whimpered Maglor.The feeling of thrusting up into Thranduil’s hand was overwhelming; he squeezed his eyes shut and chased it.The next moment, he was clutching at Thranduil’s hair as he spilled over the palm of his hand.

There was a moment of pause, and then Thranduil had flipped him over and was pushing him down against the pillows.There were lips on the back of his neck, nails raking down his thighs.Maglor groaned, back arching, cock starting to fill again almost immediately.He was too old for this, but it had been so long—too long.He used to fuck Men, but sometime in the last five hundred years, he thought he had lost track of himself.He could remember so little, and all of it faded like a too-old polaroid.

Thranduil bit his neck hard, and Maglor cried out, the pillows muffling the sound of it.He heard the other Elf say, sounding lightly amused, “You are _very_ needy, aren’t you?”

“As if you aren’t,” Maglor mumbled, because he could feel Thranduil’s cock hot and hard against his thigh.“When’s the last time you fucked anyone?”

“Oh, it hasn’t been _so_ long,” Thranduil told him darkly, one hand fisting in his hair.“There are mortals who are surprisingly interested in the eldritch spirits inhabiting old forests and mountains.”

“We’re in— _fuck_ —DC, where exactly are you finding ‘old forests and mountains’?”He gasped and groaned as Thranduil pressed two fingers inside him, hard enough to hurt; hard enough to burn.Practiced fingers lit his nerves up like a signal flare.His cock was fully hard again already, and he was rutting weakly against the bed, unable to stop himself.

“I told you, I’m only here for a graduation ceremony,” Thranduil said.“I do not usually spend my time in cities, but in the mountains nearby known for their age.The place that once was Mirkwood, long ago.”

It took Maglor’s addled brain a moment to work through this.When he did, he snorted with laughter.“ _Appalachia_?” he gasped, knowing he was needling Thranduil and not even caring.“How romantic of you, fucking tourists in those timeless hills.”

He squeaked as the flat of Thranduil’s hand came down on his buttocks, the sound of the smack partially deadened by the cushions and furniture all around.“Hush, _kinslayer_ ,” Thranduil told him, low and deadly, biting his neck again, and Maglor whined and shuddered with the pleasure of it.“You were playing a guitar for nickels in the DC metro, I don’t think you have a moral advantage here.”

The conversation was surreal, the language a strange polyglot of Sindarin and modern English, and Maglor had to wonder what would happen if he brought in Quenya.Would it make Thranduil angrier?Would it simply confuse him?The thought made him laugh, and the laugh turned to a gasp and a bitten-off groan.“Are you going to hit me again?” Maglor asked.“Am I infuriating you, sweet, young Thranduil?”

He yelped as Thranduil did exactly that, yelped and whined at the pain follow by prickling sensation washing through him.“I am _ancient_ ,” Thranduil said, sound rather petulant.

“Not—in comparison—to me,” Maglor told him, receiving another stinging slap and twisting around to look up at him.“I am the oldest thing still walking on this land.I am older than the Sun and Moon and— _nnn_ —are you going to _fuck_ me or not?”

Another blow left him reeling, his head dark and muzzy, but in a very different way from before.“Are you going to be still long enough for me to get inside you?” Thranduil asked, sounding somewhere between exasperated and faintly amused.

“Surely you’re capable of holding me down?” Maglor grinned, and the hand in his hair slammed his face down into the pillow.

“I had no idea that Maglor Fëanorion was such a _needy slut_ ,” Thranduil’s voice told him, trembling, possibly with anger, possibly with desire.

“I aim—to please,” Maglor gasped out, his voice muffled by the pillow.He felt Thranduil’s cock pressing at his hole and Thranduil’s hands fisted in his hair. 

“I’m not going to coddle you,” Thranduil said harshly, snapping his hips forward.Maglor squeaked; Thranduil was by no means the largest he’d taken, but it had been a long time.Thranduil’s cock _burned_ , even with the oil to slicken the way.The other Elf grunted, and Maglor moaned, his cock dragging against the soft eiderdown. 

“Fortunately—” he gasped, “Fuh-fortunately, I have no desire to be coddled.”

Thranduil’s fingers dug into his hips, and he groaned, thrusting harder.Maglor reached back, desperate to feel him in every way possible, to know he was there.“Please,” he murmured, not quite knowing what he was asking for.

“Do you _ever_ shut up?” Thranduil asked, and Maglor smirked in spite of himself.

“If there’s a hand over my mouth or I’m being choked,” he replied thoughtfully.“Or a cock down my throat, though I suppose you could argue that’s a subset of being choked—”Thranduil promptly took the bait and slapped a slim hand across his mouth, muffling the rest of the sentence, and Maglor couldn’t keep from laughing at him.He was so _easy_ to goad.It was delightful.

“Shut up,” Thranduil told him again, tightening his hold so that Maglor couldn’t really breathe, and he felt himself slipping away again.Valar, but he’d forgotten how it felt to be filled up and fucked like this, with his head buzzing from lack of air.If it weren’t for the fact that the hand across his mouth was Thranduil’s right, he might almost have slipped all the way back to—

No.That way lay madness, and Maglor was painfully aware of how closely he treaded that line.

This was not their time.This was far into a strange future, when all but they had fled—old enemies, Maglor thought dizzily, become friends simply through the turning of the years.He put a hand across Thranduil’s, and Thranduil paused, loosening his grip.

“No,” Maglor said, his own voice hoarser than he’d ever heard it.“I don’t need you to stop, I just need to touch you.Please.”

A soft, shuddering breath in his ear.“Kinslayer,” Thranduil murmured again, but his voice was soft.His cock was not, working inside Maglor until his insides turned to jelly.He did not slip away again, but felt all of it in sharp, brilliant, almost painful relief.The blunt head of Thranduil’s cock inside him, the brush of gold-wire hair across his shoulders, even as some of it spilled across the pillow, limned with the brilliance of electrical light, the impression of sharp fingers digging into the soft flesh of his thigh, and the slickness of sweat between them.Thranduil’s own breath was ragged now, and the two of them moved together energetically, a strident, desperate melody, not quite discordant.

“I’m—close,” murmured Thranduil, and Maglor didn’t know if there was a question in his voice.

If there was, he answered it anyway, pulling Thranduil’s hand down to say, still in a queer, rough voice, “Come inside me, then.”He had no term of endearment to offer, so instead he turned awkwardly to kiss Thranduil’s lips and felt him gasp and stiffen, emptying himself inside Maglor with one more stifled cry.Maglor barely noticed his own climax, following in a sleepy haze of warmth.

He half expected to be kicked right out of the bed, but Thranduil only pulled out slowly and rearranged himself to lie down beside Maglor.Maglor’s body sought the warmth of the covers, and he slipped underneath them, suddenly shivering.Thranduil followed a moment later, long fingers kiting over one of Maglor’s sharp hipbones.

“Do you eat?” he asked abruptly.“You’re very thin.”

Maglor huffed out a laugh.“When I remember.”

Those dark eyes gave him a faintly accusatory look.“What is the point of staying in Middle Earth if you don’t at least avail yourself of its amenities?”

He had not expected Thranduil to ask that.He had not expected a Sindar to care.It was strange, how long it had been, and yet the question felt like a blow driving all the air from his lungs.“If I stay,” Maglor whispered, after a long moment.“The Oath cannot be said to be forsworn entire.And if it is not, my bro—my brothers—still—exist.”

Everything went quiet, so quiet that Maglor could hear the faint electrical buzzing of the overhead light.

“I hate you,” Thranduil said, heavily, after a moment, then pulled him closer, those supple arms crossing over his chest, as if he weren’t planning to let Maglor go.“Would you come back to Appalachia with me?It gets dull, with no one to talk to who speaks Sindarin.”

Clumsy.Clumsy and unexpectedly sweet.Maglor felt tears brimming in his eyes.“I suppose,” he said, after a moment.“But I must remind you, I am not a native speaker of Sindarin.”

“Well, I shall hit you if you speak to me in Quenya,” Thranduil said with a shrug, the words belied by a strange tenderness underlying them.Then he pressed his face into the back of Maglor’s neck.“And you’re going to eat.I don’t feel like dealing with a corpse in my backyard.”

“All right,” Maglor whispered, and he could not stop the tears from rolling down.They were very hot.Thranduil’s grip was so tight it was almost painful.Perhaps he did not have to fear fading just yet, after all.“Thank you.”

“Shut up,” Thranduil told him.“I want to sleep, not listen to you grovel.”

Maglor chuckled and wriggled back against him.“I shall remember you do not wish to hear me grovel,” he said, with a twist of humor that made his own voice nearly unrecognizable to him, that seemed to bring with it the sweet, innocent mingling of treelight from so long ago.

Thranduil grumbled something unintelligible, and Maglor let himself drift away into sleep as well.


End file.
